coming to as i rock back and up
from the floor
stoned and sleep deprived
i was making room
on the shelf for bukowski
he has been living in the bathroom
and i killed his dog today
I’ve always been cursed with extraordinarily low blood pressure. In other words, I faint easily. I learned young how to hit the floor and breathe and wait a few minutes. I’ve never actually had a drunk blackout. There was a time in my life I sure seemed to be trying hard, times I wished I could forget, but I never could. No, no matter how sick I made myself I always remembered every torturous minute of it. Warning: I do not recommend trying it yourself.
Bukowski, yes, Love is a Dog from Hell. Maybe I should reread that one in honor of Valentines. I have a strong suspicion that by the time that day arrives all I’m going to want is a sympathetic shoulder to soak with tears while I cry my little heart out. It’s unlikely I’ll get what I want, I very rarely do. Probably I’ll spend the day alone, avoiding people at all costs. I doubt I’ll have the energy to fake it or the patience to be comforted out of my very real discomfort and grief.
I know I am on the path I need to follow. That doesn’t change the fact that sometimes it really, really sucks. It would be terribly tempting to blame God, to point to all this as evidence of being tested or some such. It feels like hell, like punishment or banishment or torment right now. And I haven’t even got to the hard part yet. I don’t think God works like that. I know it’s unfair to blame Her for my own bad choices and the cruel shit other people do. But I need those arms to cry in and I can’t feel His right now.